Protector
by rueplumet
Summary: M. Madeleine uses his superhuman strength to protect Javert after an arrest goes wrong, and Javert struggles with his admiration for the mayor.
1. Chapter 1

Javert was out for his routine patrol of Montreuil-sur-Mer on a particularly dark December night. He walked as he always did; back straight, chin up, exerting his authority despite there being nobody to appreciate it. He walked with purpose, hearing the click of his boots on the cobblestones.

As he rounded a corner, he saw a small crowd gathering under a street lamp. He placed a hand on the cudgel in his belt, then strode forward, purposeful as ever.

The gentlemen had not heard him arrive, and Javert watched as one of them, a man he knew to be named Bamatabois, grabbed a fistful of snow and pressed it down the front of a woman's dress.

Javert took little notice of the woman; she certainly would have had some discomfort, but it was nothing she wouldn't be able to take care of herself. More pressing was the fact that this man had clearly assaulted her, disrupting the peace of the town Javert had been ordered to look after.

He strode purposefully through the group of gentlemen - maybe five or six of them - and placed a stern hand on Bamatabois's shoulder. He barely noticed the woman run off. He used the pressure on his shoulder to turn him around, and asked, barely above a whisper, "Care to explain why I just saw a respectable man assault a woman?"

Bamatabois sputtered. "Inspector Javert," he cried, "She assaulted me! The tart-"

"You don't look hurt," Javert said, curtly. "I turned the corner and watched you assault a defenceless woman. It appears you intended to mug her. I can't have that."

Javert kept a firm hand on Bamatabois's upper shoulder, and turned to the gentlemen behind them. "Go _home_," he spat impatiently. He turned back to Bamatabois and pinned both his wrists to the small of his back as he reached for the handcuffs in his belt. "Mugging is a crime, and a serious one," he said, sternly, as he retrieved the cuffs.

Feeling only one hand holding his wrist, Bamatabois saw his chance; he wrenched his hands free of Javert and swung at him, hitting the Inspector square in the jaw. Javert stumbled back a few paces, but quickly drew his cudgel and delivered a blow to Bamatabois's side. Only an instant later, however, the other men who had stood by as Bamatabois assaulted that woman had grabbed Javert's arms. Javert tried desperately to shrug them off, but despite his vigorous lifestyle, he was no match for the men who could have been half his age.

Several of the men held Javert back, his arms spread apart, as Bamatabois walked up closely to him. "I wasn't trying to mug her," He spat. "She's a filthy whore. We were having some fun."

Javert continued to struggle when he felt one of the men wrench his cudgel out of his hand, just before it delivered a sharp blow to Javert's side. The men let go of him and he fell to the ground, instinctively covering his head as he felt them kicking at him.

Humiliated and ashamed, Javert stayed curled up on the ground, feeling the snow soak through his uniform jacket on one end and - was that blood? - soak through elsewhere. He begged for it to end soon, each kick sending a painful jolt through his body, and an even more painful jolt through his pride.

Suddenly, he heard one of the men above him cry out, as if he had been struck, and Javert wondered if, somehow, they had started fighting among themselves. The kicking ceased; Javert moved his arms away from his face and opened his eyes just enough to see what was going on.

It appeared a tall, formidable man in a long coat had retrieved Javert's cudgel and, sensing the danger the Inspector was in, had hit one of the men kicking Javert. The men immediately turned on him, but unlike Javert, this man had no trouble shrugging them off, despite his apparent age.

Javert blinked as he realized who the man was.

Monsieur Madeleine dropped the cudgel, clearly not used to the weapon, and began swinging at the men still attempting to subdue him the way they had Javert. "Get out of here," he heard the man roar. Javert watched, transfixed, as the men began to flee. Bamatabois, however, seeing Monsieur Madeleine preoccupied with the others, had returned to Javert. Before Javert could summon the strength to stand up, Bamatabois closed the distance between them, appearing to Javert as if he intended to continue kicking him, overflowing with rage from how the evening's events had transpired.

Madeleine, though, had finished fighting off the other men, and grabbed Bamatabois firmly, hands pressed to his upper arms, and spun him around. "I'm warning you, son, clear out of here. Don't do anything you'll regret." Madeleine's let go, and Bamatabois ran off into the darkness behind his friends.

Javert could not take his eyes off the mayor. The mayor coming to the officer's rescue. The shame of it, he thought. And at his age, too - where had he learned that strength?

A wave of something like admiration spread through Javert. He was sure he was going to be severely injured, if not killed, by those men, before the mayor - the mayor, the one Javert was intended to protect, not the other way around - had stepped in, placing himself in certain danger. Who was this man?

Madeleine knelt down beside Javert. "Are you alright, Inspector?" He asked gravely, in a voice not so soft as to humiliate Javert even further.

Javert could find no words, but instead tried to bring himself to his feet. He stumbled, his beaten legs not fully able to support his weight, but before he could fall back down to the cobblestone, he felt the mayor's strong arm supporting him.

Madeleine placed his shoulder under Javert's, hoisting him to his feet, and then wrapped his arm against Javert's waist, supporting him. Another wave rushed through Javert as he felt his body pressed up against the mayor's, supported by his strong arm that was holding him just tight enough to support him, without placing too much pressure on Javert's surely bruised body.

"Can you walk, Inspector?" Madeleine asked, in the same grave voice as earlier.

"I don't think so," Javert choked. He tried not to think of how pathetic he looked, and the way the mayor's confidence in him as chief inspector will have wavered after the incident.

"I will take you to the hospital," Madeleine replied, holding Javert close to him, walking slowly as Javert leaned on him for support.

"Monsieur le Maire," Javert implored. He didn't need anybody else knowing about the incident.

Madeleine seemed to have understood. "I shall take you home, then, and do what I can for you there."

They walked like this, Javert relying on Madeleine even just to stand, let alone walk, as Javert directed Madeleine toward his lodgings. As the humiliation wore off - somewhat quicker than Javert had expected - he found himself leaning into the mayor more than he necessitated. He tried to tell himself that that wasn't what he was doing, and prayed the older man didn't notice it either.

Madeleine asked no further questions as they continued, seeming to understand Javert's hesitation at being treated like a victim, for which Javert was thankful. Still, he clung almost desperately to the mayor's body, amazed at the man's strength.  
_This is indecent_, he told himself, his brain still fuzzy from the night's events._ This is indecent. This is demeaning to the mayor. You're a man, Javert, not some young woman who -_

They had arrived at Javert's small apartment. Madeleine helped him up the stairs and guided him to his bed. Javert sat on the edge of the bed as Madeleine turned toward the door.

"I will return in the morning, Inspector," he said. He was gone before Javert could protest.

Javert laid down, still in his soaked-through uniform, and recalled a time in prison when he had watched another man single-handedly fight off a half-dozen attackers, and remembered the indecent surge of admiration he had felt then, too. Javert had not intervened until after it was clear the man had successfully beaten off the other convicts, transfixed by his strength. He tried not to think of the mayor in that way.

_I'm damned_, he thought, closing his eyes and letting himself fall immediately asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Javert awoke a few hours later with a start. He too soon remembered the abuse he had withstood earlier that night and closed his eyes tightly as he felt every cell in his body positively ache. He was cold and wet, having fallen asleep still in his drenched uniform, and his entire body was in agony. He opened and closed his eyes a few times, trying to make sense of the night's events.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Javert remembered Madeleine promising to return in the morning. He could not find him like this, Javert thought, incapable of even undressing himself. He leaned over and lit a candle on his nightstand, and, wincing in pain as he did so, swung his legs over the side of his bed.

Javert slowly began removing his uniform, inspecting it for damage. Most of it was completely soaked and muddied from the dirty snow, but with a sigh of relief Javert noticed he had not bled on it. Using a clean patch of his undershirt, he wiped his face, and examined what he had rubbed off - mostly dirt, but traces of what looked like blood. Once undressed, he folded the damp uniform neatly, and moved to stand up.

No sooner had he gotten to his feet than he felt his left leg fail beneath his weight. He flung out an arm, grabbing desperately to the nightstand, just in time to keep himself upright. Slowly and deliberately, keeping one hand on the wall to support himself, Javert made his way to his dresser. He placed his uniform on top and retrieved a nightshirt, returning to his bed before donning it.

He attempted to lay back down in bed and found that it, as with the uniform, was very wet from the snow. Figuring he probably did not have the strength to redress his bed at this hour, he leaned over and blew out the candle, attempting to find a position to sleep in that was both dry and comfortable, given his extensive injuries.

When he awoke several hours later, he found the mayor seated at a chair near his bedside, head buried in a novel. Noticing Javert had awoken, he set down the novel and peered at the inspector, as if attempting to appraise the severity of his injuries based on his facial expression alone. "Good morning, Inspector," he greeted, with a nod.

"Monsieur le Maire," Javert returned.

"I've brought you some breakfast," the mayor said, nodding to a plate of bread and jam on Javert's nightstand, as well as a cup of tea.

Javert made to sit up, a small gasp of pain escaping his lips as he did so. He cursed himself, cheeks becoming flushed from showing the weakness in front of the older man. He shut his eyes and started another attempt, before he felt two strong hands on his torso, helping him to place his back against his headboard. He hadn't prepared for the mayor's touch, and felt himself dazed, trying to put from his mind the effect of the man's hands on his body. "Thank you," he murmured. Madeleine passed him his breakfast.

Madeleine returned to his book as Javert ate, seeming not to notice the way Javert picked at his food. After ten minutes, he had scarcely eaten half of his meal, and he turned to the mayor.

"I apologize, Monsieur, but are there not more pressing things you could be attending to this morning?" He asked, quietly.

"I've already opened the factory and explained to the foreman I will be absent most of the day," he said, pointedly. "My chief inspector is injured. That is what I am attending to."

Javert set the plate delicately on his nightstand. Madeleine looked at him slowly, and said, deliberately, and not without hesitation, "I need to examine you for injuries."

Javert started, partly due to his lack of desire for the further emasculation promised by the older man doting over him as if he were a sick child, and partly, though he cursed himself for it, because he was afraid of the way the man's touch made him feel.

"I assure you, I'm fine," he tried, hoping he appeared more confident than apprehensive.

"I've already neglected to take you to a proper hospital, at least let me ensure there is nothing broken," Madeleine retorted. When he saw this had not won over Javert, he added, "You will need to be returning to work at some point, will you not? If you are injured and it is not attended to, you will be out of work for longer."

Javert scowled. He was upset just knowing he would not be able to return to work for at least a few days, and conceded that the mayor did have a point. He closed his eyes and nodded slowly, once, before sliding back down into a laying position.

Gently, Madeleine pulled back the bedclothes. "I'm going to start with your arms, alright?" He said, hesitantly. Javert noticed Madeleine seemed not to want to do this just as much as Javert wanted not to be subjected to it. He was not sure if this was reassuring or upsetting.

Madeleine gingerly picked up one of Javert's arms, rolled up the sleeve of his nightshirt, and moved his rough hand along it, squeezing gently, and examining it closely for bruising. "Let me know if anything hurts," he mumbled. He moved slowly from Javert's wrist to his shoulder, before starting with the other arm.

Every few inches, Madeleine would come across a point where Javert had been struck particularly hard, and Javert would let out a small gasp of pain. At this, Madeleine's hands would go from probing to comforting, applying just enough pressure to the area to soothe the bruise. Madeleine's hands moved deftly up Javert's other arm, and Javert noticed the confidence building within the mayor. Cursing himself, Javert let himself be comforted by the mayor's firm touch.

When he finished with his second shoulder, Madeleine sighed, as if contemplating how to address the issue of clothing. "I'll examine your torso over your nightshirt," he said, unsure of himself, "So I need you to tell me if anything hurts."

Slowly, Madeleine pressed various points on Javert's chest and abdomen, and Javert felt a heat wash through him. Having curled up during the attack, the area was mostly uninjured, save for a large bruise near his kidney where the cudgel had hit him. Javert let out a sharp gasp when Madeleine reached this area.

"Does it hurt?" He asked softly, again applying gentle pressure to the area.

"Just bruised," Javert mumbled.

Madeleine looked worriedly at the area, but did not press the issue further. "I'll check your legs now," he said.

He pushed Javert's nightshirt up to about halfway up his thighs, and once again began examining them as he had his arms. Javert once again found himself becoming almost drunk with the sensation of the man's hands on his bare flesh and cursed the heat emanating from his groin. He shut his eyes and prayed for distraction, mentally going through several prayers about temptation.

"It appears nothing is broken," Madeleine remarked, having finished his examination. He peered at Javert. "Is something wrong, Inspector?" he added, noticing Javert had his eyes shut tightly and seemed to be mumbling under his breath.

"Just - just a headache," Javert lied.

Madeleine stood up and drew the blanket back over Javert. "I will be needed back at the factory," he said, abruptly. "I will return later tonight. Try to rest."

And just like that, the mayor was again gone, and Javert was again laying in bed, all but writhing in agony, cursing himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Javert passed most of the rest of the day in bed, getting up only infrequently. The night's rest had healed him somewhat; despite being incredibly sore, he was able to walk around his apartment with only mild difficulty. He was still reliant on furniture for support, and once, while making his way back from his desk, he found he needed to stop and rest before he could continue.

Idleness did not suit Javert. He rarely took time off from work, and when he did, he spent most of the day fastidiously cleaning his apartment or doing his laundry. He rarely read; he was moderately literate, but never found any interest in books. He channeled so much of his energy into work that when he had walked around his small apartment looking for something with which to busy himself while he rested, he found nothing.

He sighed deeply. He was frustrated and restless, wanting nothing more than to return to work and his former lifestyle. He remembered Madeleine again promising to return, and Javert found himself glancing out the window impatiently, awaiting his arrival. At dusk, Madeleine had not yet returned, and Javert closed his eyes, figuring he would rest until the mayor returned.

They hit him, they hit him until he was laying on the ground, covering his head with his hands. He begged them to stop - he was only a child, barely six years old - but they did not relent. His attackers were older, but only by a few years.

He cried and begged and pleaded, the first few times. They shouted insults at him, insults he was still too young to understand.

"Son of a whore," they called.

"Stupid gypsy scum!"

Their voices grew deeper and he slowly opened his eyes, peering up. It was no longer the young boys from earlier, but Bamatabois and his friends. He, however, had not aged. He covered his head as their kicks and insults continued, and tried to hide his loud sobs. He had given up pleading with them.

He kept his eyes shut tight, knowing that any minute he would be saved. Any minute, he thought, someone will surely arrive and stop this.

Help never arrived.

Javert awoke to a hand on his upper arm, and another one pressing his hand. He opened his eyes and saw the mayor had, after all, returned. Based on the dim light coming from the window, no more than an hour could have passed since he fell asleep.

"Javert," Madeleine said, barely above a whisper and with an air of concern. "Are you alright?"

_It was a dream_, he thought. _Just a nightmare. A memory. It's over._

He looked around the room, trying to remember why Madeleine was seated at his bedside.

_I was attacked,_ he thought. _And Madeleine saved me, carried me here. He's tending to me._

Suddenly, he realized how pathetic he must have looked in front of the mayor; not only had he been unable to defend himself against a group of drunks, but now Madeleine finds him in the throes of a nightmare? He wrenched his hand from Madeleine's grasp. Madeleine sat back in his chair and gazed down at Javert with an expression of something that was not quite concern. Javert tried to place the expression. Uneasiness, perhaps?

"I was raised in a poor orphanage," Javert blurted.

Madeleine looked at him, and Javert again had trouble placing his expression.

"I was born in jail. My mother died during childbirth, and my father was serving a life sentence. I was taken to an orphanage shortly after I was born. The other children,"

Javert faltered.

"We did not get along," he finished.

_Yes, it's uneasiness,_ Javert thought. To this point, it had seemed Madeleine was only reluctantly assisting Javert, and Javert realized Madeleine was just as duty-bound as he was. _He's not here to look after me; he's here because he saw someone get injured, someone without a family or a wife or anyone else to look after him. It's his conscience that brings him here, not his heart._

Madeleine let out a long sigh and looked at Javert, as if encouraging him to continue. Javert closed his eyes, mostly so he would not have to look at Madeleine's face; he could not stand those weary eyes, those eyes that seemed to be constantly disappointed with him.

He felt Madeleine press his hand and immediately flinched. Madeleine did not let go, and Javert relaxed into the touch.

They stayed like this for a while, Javert with his eyes shut and Madeleine gently squeezing his hand. Javert tried to calm himself down, and found the mayor's grasp to be, once again, strangely comforting. He considered what it might be like to have him hold more than just his hand, what it might be like to have those two strong arms around him, pressing him to his chest, protecting him.

Realizing what he was thinking, he again pulled his hand away from that of Madeleine.

"Monsieur le Maire, I apologize," he muttered.

"No need," he responded. "I've brought you supper."

Javert sat up, unaided this time, and Madeleine passed him his supper. He realized he had barely eaten in almost a full day.

After a few mouthfuls, Javert set down his fork. "Were you just watching me sleep?" He asked, forgetting himself.

"I had only just arrived when you awoke," Madeleine said. "I intended to be here earlier, but there was an issue at the factory."

Javert nodded and returned to his meal. Madeleine waited patiently while he ate, seemingly lost in thought. Once finished, Javert placed the plate carefully on his nightstand.

"How are you feeling?" Madeleine asked. Javert again noticed the hesitation in his voice, as if he had been debating whether or not he should ask.

Javert found himself torn between wanting to snap at him for treating him like a sick child and letting himself be treated like a sick child; he could not deny the comfort he felt around Madeleine, they way, for the first time in his life, he felt there was someone who would protect him.

"Somewhat better," he managed.

"Good," Madeleine responded. He stood up, picking up Javert's dishes and leaving the room.

Javert watched him as he left. He had taken off his greatcoat and was just in his shirt and waistcoat. The look was flattering, and Javert again found himself admiring the way Madeleine's refined sense of style accentuated his muscular form.

Once he had left the room, Javert sighed, admitting to himself that, yes, he was attracted to the other man.

He heard what sounded like Madeleine washing his dishes, and tried in vain to put him from his mind. After what seemed to Javert like an eternity, he returned, picking up his greatcoat from where he had folded it over the back of his chair.

"If there's nothing else you need, Inspector, I think I will take my leave for tonight," he said.

"Monsieur Madeleine," Javert started. "You are welcome to stay the night, it has gotten late."

Madeleine eyed Javert suspiciously. "I assure you I'll be fine. Do you think you will be capable of returning to work the day after next?"

"Certainly," Javert replied.

Madeleine gave him a sharp nod. "Good night, Inspector."

Javert wondered if he could last another day in the other man's hospitality.

* * *

AN: It seems like I'm writing these really quickly but I'm not; I've released one chapter each day since I began writing it, it's just today that I'm putting them up here on . New chapter should be done by tomorrow night or perhaps Monday.

Do the chapters seem abnormally short to anybody else? I feel like they should be longer, but I feel like I'm ending them where it's most natural.

Also I've twice been told some of my wording/phrasing/dialogue isn't historically accurate so if you want to yell at me about that please do, I'm still learning and would love any constructive criticism or whatever. I literally know nothing about the 1820s someone please help.


	4. Chapter 4

_Of course he's not going to say the night,_ Javert thought bitterly. _You have likely offended him with the mere suggestion. By Christ, you are an _adult,_Javert. As is he. You are both adults, you are both_ men_._

Javert shook his head, as if he somehow expected that to rid his conscience of thoughts of Madeleine.

It did not.

Javert stayed in bed after the mayor's departure, but sleep did not come easily. He was too caught up in his thoughts of the man. He recalled the way he looked, towering over Javert, illuminated by the street lamp after having come to his rescue. He remembered that firm grasp that aided him back to his rooms. The hands that checked his body for injuries, the heat that spread through him as they brushed his thighs...

He faltered.

_Is that really what you want, Javert?_ His hands clenched.

_Perhaps not,_ he forced himself to think. He had simply been bedridden for too long. He had not been to work, he had not been about his normal routine. He certainly harboured no affection for the mayor, beyond that which an inferior must feel for the mayor of his town. He had been too long holed up, too long with nothing to do but lie in bed and think about when the mayor might return.

Javert's own hand found his thighs and traced over where the mayor had touched them. They ached, but the pain was not so bad Javert had flinched at Madeleine's touch.

_It is not the mayor_, Javert thought, still cursing himself. How could he demean the man in such a way? He had arrived in this town a stranger and had done so much to improve it. Madeleine had single-handedly fixed the town's decaying economy and had done nothing but ensure his citizens were living prosperous lives. He had done nothing to deserve the way Javert thought of him now.

Javert slid his hand between his thighs, gently pulling at himself.

He tried to tell himself that was not what he was doing, that he wasn't imagining Madeleine's firm hands upon his body as he did so. With a shudder, he thought of what Madeleine might be able to do to him using that strength.

Javert forgot to think _he would never_, and surrendered himself to his fantasies of Madeleine.

When he finished, he found he could think of nothing else but the man's comforting grasp as he held Javert through his nightmare, soothing him, letting him know that he was safe.

When he awoke the next morning, he found himself alone.

Javert stood up from his bed, and found he could remain standing without holding anything for support. He gingerly stepped forward, testing his legs. Slowly, he spanned the length of his room then turned back, confidence gaining with each step. The previous night's rest had done wonders, and Javert was happy to see his mobility return. His mobility meant he could return to work, leave his room, get back to his life. His life outside that unrelenting longing for that man's touch.

Javert washed and dressed himself with only some difficulty. He was still sore, and found himself thankful he had this last day of rest before he returned to his duties. He needed to rest after doing washing himself, but shortly after he redressed his bed.

Unsure of what to do with himself while he awaited Madeleine's arrival, Javert pulled out one of the few books he owned, a massive tome about a former criminal turned detective. He sat upon his recently made bed, and, with an almost childish sense of escape, Javert imagined bitterly a world in which reform was more than a dream. The book did what Javert hoped it would; it took his mind from Madeleine and instead turned it back to Javert's thoughts about rehabilitation and the nature of man. Javert had sinned, but he had always known himself a sinner. If he did not appear that way to others, it was because of their own lack of understanding. He knew he would always be a sinner, had resigned himself to that fate, while still struggling to suppress it as much as he could.

He wondered if it was the same for criminals. Javert could not have controlled himself the previous night, and was it not the same for those whose trespasses broke _his_ laws, and not God's? Regardless of any time spent in prison, of any pleas to the courts about how they really _had _changed, Javert imagined the urge to trespass again would be too strong. No, people could not change. _He_ could not change.

Absorbed in his thoughts, he did not hear the mayor arrive.

"Good afternoon, Inspector," Madeleine said with a nod. Was it already afternoon? Javert wondered what had kept the man from his bedside for so long this morning.

"The same to you," Javert responded, setting down his book. He watched as Madeleine's eyes scanned over him, appraising.

"You look well today," Madeleine noted. Javert tried in vain to suppress the heat that raced to his cheeks. "You are feeling better?"

"Yes," Javert responded.

"I shall not interrupt your reading, then," Madeleine said, turning for the door.

The inspector stood up off his bed and took a step toward the mayor.

_He's going to leave._ The thoughts rushed through Javert's head and then through his entire body, filling him. They cascaded through his body and turned from anxiety to anger to confidence in the time it took to close the distance between him and the man he admired so greatly. _He is going to leave, and this will be over. There will be no more kind mayor taking care of the injured Inspector, no more -_

Madeleine stared dumbly at Javert. "Do you intend to follow me?" He asked, quizzically.

"I intended to thank you," Javert mumbled. He found himself ever so slightly shaking and cursed the uncharacteristic lack of confidence. He could feel his heart race in his throat. If he did not do something now...

"No thanks are needed," Madeleine responded. His look returned again to the uneasiness Javert had seen the day before.

Javert took another step toward the man. They were close, standing in the doorway to Javert's bedroom, and Javert's breathing was laboured. They were standing so _close,_ Javert unable to sustain eye contact and Madeleine looking at him with those worried eyes. Those sad, weary, worried eyes that _still_ seemed disappointed in Javert.

He screwed up his courage and closed the remaining distance between them at last. He bunched his fists into a ball, pleading the anxiety would leave him, and wrapped these fists around Madeleine's body, pulling them closer to himself. He pressed his lips to the mayor's, eyes shut tightly together.

The feeling was reminiscent of diving.

Here he was, plunging into something unknown, not knowing what awaited him. All he knew is that he had done it, he had jumped, he was standing here with his arms around this man and - _Christ, Javert, your hands are still fists, that is not how you are supposed to do this _- their mouths together at last.

Javert barely had time to register his own actions when he felt Madeleine pull back from him. His eyes were wide and once again, Javert stared at his face trying to decode the unreadable expression.

Madeleine took a firm step back and could not hide his surprise. For the first time, Javert saw Madeleine display emotion freely. It was not the stern, calculated, heavy expression he had worn as he took care of Javert, not the rigid barrier between whatever Madeleine might have been thinking and what he allowed others to see. His mouth hung slightly open and he glanced around the room, looking everywhere but at Javert, as if he might find, in some corner of Javert's bedroom, an explanation of his actions.

"Monsieur le Maire, I apologize," Javert said. Duty told him to keep his head up, that he would not simply stare at the floor. But he could not meet Madeleine's eyes. Instead, he bore into the man's neck, buried behind an ascot.

"There has been some mistake," Madeleine sputtered. The words were not the typical tone of the mayor, who seemed to choose his words delicately and deliberately. Surprise did not sit him; the words fell, clumsy, from his mouth. "You feel for me, in this way?"

Javert swallowed.

"Yes."

Madeleine paused, still looking everywhere but at Javert. "I must take my leave of you, Inspector," he said, desperately clinging to any shred of composure he could find. He turned toward to leave but after a few steps, turned back toward him. "I am sorry, Javert."

This time, Javert could not keep his eyes off the floor.

"I do not - I could not," Madeleine tried. The difficulty in his voice could have killed Javert. Listening to the mayor fumble in such a way was leagues more painful than his assault had been, three days prior. He forced himself to look up.

Madeleine was finally looking at him, and again stared at Javert with a look of utmost disappointment. Wordlessly, he turned and left.

Javert stood for a moment in the doorway of his room, dazed, flushed, humiliated. He returned to his bed and rested atop it, eyes boring holes into the ceiling.

He was again alone, and had the distinct feeling Madeleine would not come to protect Javert again.


End file.
